Fiery Descent
by Dessmond Williams
Summary: Jumping from ships in high-orbit was easy.  Dealing with you psyche after the war, that's the hard part.


Isolation...that was the only word that would do the cold, steel pod justice. The conclaves of the interior bore down on the armor-clad soldier. They spoke of war, pain and death. It was odd, however. The steel coffin was strangely still and quiet, with no shaking or fear that came with the drop. Instead of feeling the strange sensation of dropping at near terminal velocity down to the surface, crashing through the numerous layers of atmosphere that surrounded most colonized planets, this felt much more akin to that of being weightless. The flames had yet to come, the pod not yet breaking through the outer atmosphere. Suddenly, the single, reinforced window on the front of the metal box revealed a scene common to all who used the pods. Space. More important, however, was what inhabited the space. Three ships of human design were visible, fighting against the strange, bulbous shapes of the alien craft that assailed them. Blasts of the iridescent weapons slammed into the human vessels, breaking away at their hulls. The barrage began to cause small openings, causing death's invisible hand to take hold of any who were unlucky enough to be near the explosion and then flung into the cold, airless vacuum of space. A terrible fate to be sure. One of the foreign vessels moved over a human ship, and the belly of the terrible ship bore a bright, painful-to-look-at beam that sliced through the ship quite effortlessly.

Then a thud. The atmosphere, perhaps? The view-port darkened, leaving the lone occupant to grow anxious. Small rattles graced the pod as it plummeted toward the ground below.

Then, just as suddenly as it vanished, the view-port returned and gave another scene. Another battle. Though not in space, this was a battle of men and monsters. The port showed a scarred land, burnt and blacked with fire. The humans were scared. The battle above had quieted, which meant the death of hundreds of their kind. A brave soul ventured a peek, only to have molten plasma sear his face to the bone. Dead, he slumped against the dirt-packed trench, only giving off a light sizzling as his face continued to burn away even after death. The other soldiers became emboldened at their comrade's defeat. Several jumped from the trench, leading a daring charge at the enemy, while the others simply tossed over their weapons and began to fire, careful of their allies' way. Not a moment later did the enemy return fire. Large blasts of blue felled many of the charging soldiers, leaving little more than burnt corpses in a field of death. The bolts of plasma arched over the trenches, occasionally hitting an unfortunate target. As the two armies traded blows, suddenly, it grew quiet. Then, a rumble. The earth itself shook as a mighty beast rose behind the enemy's line. As the mechanized monstrosity lined its shots, the humans' bravery faltered. Nearly at once, all the men ran from the trenches, abandoning their fortifications, and tried in vain to escape. The view-port panned up, just as a mortar was about to strike.

The strike never came. Instead, the port darkened again, leaving the terrified man shaking and wanting to scream, yet no sound came from his haunted face. More violent rattling came from outside the pod. It had accelerated speed, despite the parachute having deployed. It shook violently, when a strange noise was heard befell the young soldier within. The sound of plates being forced off sounded and bounced off the metal interior in a deafening fashion. The view-port grew light once more, though this time the memory did not follow immediately. Instead, it showed the fire that had nearly engulfed the pod. Small embers were floating inside, courtesy of the now missing plates. Though the fire licked at the inside of the now weakened pod, the man felt nothing. Just a dull numbness as he braced for the next memory.

The scene began again, though at a different location. The trenches were gone, now replaced with a forest. Untouched by the ravages of war, it still flourished. The sound of the many woodland creatures was absent though, as if they knew that the mere noise would send them and their beloved forest to its death. A strange motion suddenly befell the port. Almost like it was...walking? The pod was now imitating its occupants memories more clearly. His two squad mates were beside him. The light fear that had encompassed him before dissipated lightly, knowing he wasn't alone. They bobbed their heads, as if trying to speak, but the noise was lost to the occupant of the pod. Suddenly, a flash, a stab, and a scream. The pulsing, azure glow of the blade revealed itself, embedded in one squad mate's abdomen. The other turned instantly and began to fire with a fiery passion at the murderous beast, though in vain as the bullets ricocheted off of the beasts shielding. The beast did not respond favorably to being shot. Tossing the useless cadaver off of the blade, he began advancing. It's soft cyan armor seemed to shimmer, as if trying to hide away from the fight and remain in the shadows. But the combined bullets from the two...two? A gun had appeared in the port. No, the view-port was gone. The pod had dissipated. The occupant was now himself again. The memory was still in control though, and this was not a good one. The beast advanced and sliced at the remaining squad mate. He dove to the side, leaving the lone soldier to deal with the beast. With his attention now focused, the monster, clad in his now shimmering cyan armor advanced slowly, as if taunting the now fearful soldier. He raised the glowing blue sword, even as the man shot what was left in his rifle.

Then...the Elite swung.

A jolting reflex kicked the man out of his bunk. Nearly hyperventilating, he struggled to get a grasp of his emotions and his lungs. Clutching his racing heart, he stumbled into the private bathroom and began splashing his face with ice cold water to remember himself. This process continued for nearly ten minutes, the icy water constantly reminding the man he was no longer dreaming. Finally satisfied with his world, his legs grew weak and deposited him on the nearby toilet. The dream was still fresh. He could still smell the burning flesh, the blackened trees still haunted his mind's eye. Unconsciously, he glanced down at his forearm, and saw the flaming skull that was printed nearly twenty years ago.

Then a knock. The man jumped against his will. A readily familiar voice echoed through the door to his room.

"Sarge, you up yet?" Simmons voice betrayed a hint of worry for his favorite officer.

"SIMMONS! You should know better than to interrupt my...business!" He yelled out, quickly coming up with an excuse for his position.

"Sorry, sir. It's just that Grif and I were up on the cliff, and it looks like the Blues are going to attack!"

"Goddamn Bluetards! I knew they'd attack today! Simmons, begin loading Grif with explosives!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Sarge stood, albeit shakily from his resting place. He moved out and began to assemble his armor around himself. Not a hint of blue graced his suit. Not a single reminder of the long-forgotten days. And yet, the reminders were there, with him...in a boxed-in canyon. The war wasn't over for him. Sarge placed his final piece of armor on, letting the helmet's pressure seals activate. The blue had followed him from his dreams...and he would see it destroyed.


End file.
